


this is just another night

by KelseyO



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, Post 2x14, commander princess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I didn’t say ‘we,’” Clarke replies.</p><p>“I did. Sacrifice is one thing, Clarke, but a foolish suicide mission is another. We will do this together.”</p><p>“Is it because we kissed?” Clarke asks, keeping her voice low. “Is that why—?”</p><p>“It’s not about that,” she interrupts gently. “Clarke, when that animal attacked and entrapped us in its feeding ground, you were the one who got us out of there alive even when I was ready for death.” She takes a half-step closer and tries not to let her focus stray from Clarke’s eyes. “No matter what happens in there,” she declares, “I will get you out of Mount Weather alive.”</p><p>(Cage gives them an offer they can't afford to refuse, and the result is a consequence Lexa never saw coming. Canon up to 2x14. Title from "Get Home" by Bastille. Three parts.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and we've had many of them

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This is not a finale fix-it; I've been working on this for like a month and had intended it to be a preemptive guess at what the finale COULD be, but then it took me forever to write, and here we are.
> 
> 2) All the thanks to Leyna and Kate for always helping me get unstuck, and to FFE for the last-minute proofread.
> 
> 3) God knows I suck at Lexa's inner voice so please be gentle.

“I escaped Mount Weather once. I’m sure I can figure out how to get back in.”

“I won’t let you do this, Clarke,” Abby insists. “There have already been so many times where I’ve nearly lost you; I won’t let you intentionally put yourself in harm’s way. Not now, not after everything we’ve been through.”

Clarke shakes her head. “But that’s just it, Mom. I killed Finn, I sent Bellamy into Mount Weather, and I let all of those people die in the missile attack. It’s _my_ turn to be a sacrifice.”

“It’s _our_ turn,” Lexa corrects and takes a step closer to her. “Clarke is right; this is a dangerous but necessary tactic, and the only way to earn back the trust we’ve lost.”

Abby’s eyes are on the ground now, but she doesn’t argue.

“I didn’t say ‘we,’” Clarke replies.

“I did. Sacrifice is one thing, Clarke, but a foolish suicide mission is another. We will do this together.”

Clarke looks at her for a long moment and takes a deep breath. “Fine.”

Abby crosses her arms. “Clarke, are you absolutely sure about this? Bellamy’s made it this far; I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“He _has_ made it this far,” Clarke agrees, “but just barely. We need him, and we need his intel from Mount Weather, and this is our insurance that will guarantee he makes it out alive.”

Abby gets very, very still before taking a deep breath and nodding. “Okay. I’ll have Raven radio Cage that we’re ready to make the trade.”

“Thank you,” Clarke says quietly, and once Abby leaves the tent, she glances at Lexa. “You don’t have to do this, Lexa. He only asked for me.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “And we don’t even know if he’s really captured Bellamy. We lost radio contact yesterday; Cage could know that. This could be a bluff.”

“And if it is, then I will be there to help fight off whatever ambush he has planned.” Lexa considers giving Clarke the entirety of the speech in her head, the one she’d take the time to say if it were anyone else, but for now she simply waits for Clarke to look her in the eye.

When she does, it makes Lexa’s breath catch in her throat.

“Is it because we kissed?” Clarke asks, keeping her voice low. “Is that why—?”

“It’s not about that,” she interrupts gently. “Clarke, when that animal attacked and entrapped us in its feeding ground, you were the one who got us out of there alive even when I was ready for death.” She takes a half-step closer and tries not to let her focus stray from Clarke’s eyes. “No matter what happens in there,” she declares, “I will get you out of Mount Weather alive.”

Clarke worries her bottom lip and nods a few times, then plants a single, delicate kiss on Lexa’s cheek before it occurs to Lexa to react. “I know,” she whispers, turning away and heading for the entrance flaps. “Meet me at the west edge of camp in half an hour.”

Then she’s gone, and Lexa’s cheek is still on fire.

.

“So this is definitely a trap, right?”

They’re standing before the hilltop entrance to the mountain, as per Cage’s instructions, and nothing about this scenario feels safe or rational.

“I assume as much,” Lexa mutters, wondering if her own guards have backed off like she ordered them to or if they’re still lingering at the fringes of the woods, but then the heavy metal door creaks open and the time for wondering is over.

Two men in hazmat suits appear, only to freeze when they see Lexa. “This wasn’t the arrangement,” one of them calls out.

“We’re giving you two new hostages for the price of one,” Clarke says. “Do you really want to challenge that?”

The men exchange glances and finally beckon them forward, and Lexa is only slightly comforted by the fact that the men don’t search or restrain them as they’re led inside.

“We’ll bring you to Bellamy to show you he’s unharmed, and then he’ll be free to go,” the other man says without making eye contact.

“And what happens to us?” Clarke asks half-heartedly, and Lexa thinks she even senses a bit of snark beneath the words.

Both guards continue to face forward. “Bellamy is being held just down this corridor,” says the one beside Lexa.

They take a right and head for an open doorway a few yards ahead. “Here,” he announces, and they turn to enter the room, and Lexa has just enough time to see Cage smirking at them, Bellamy nowhere to be found, before everything goes dark and her hands are pulled behind her back and her wrists bound.

“You can’t be all that surprised,” Cage says, and Lexa hears him walking closer.

“Do I look even a little bit surprised to you?” Clarke deadpans from inside the cloth that’s covering her own head.

The corner of Lexa’s mouth twitches, but her amusement vanishes at the distinct sound of a fist’s impact and a sharp grunt from Clarke.

“Welcome back to Mount Weather, Clarke.” He snaps his fingers. “Dispose of their weapons and take them down the hall.”

Strong hands grip Lexa’s arms while someone takes her sword from its sheath, and now the hands force her back out of the room. She stumbles forward until she’s turned around and pushed backwards into a chair, then her restraints are adjusted so she’s tied to the cold metal frame.

The hood stays on, and she tries to quiet her breathing so she can hear what’s happening.

“He’s been hiding inside of these walls like a rat,” Cage’s voice says, “somehow always managing to evade my men whenever we’re about to close in on him. What I need from you,” he continues, “is a way to smoke him out.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to cooperate?” Clarke asks, her words hard and fearless.

“A couple different reasons, actually. Number one,” he begins, and a beat later Lexa hears another punch. “And then there’s number two…” Clarke’s grunt of pain is louder this time. “And my personal favorite, number three.”

Now she cries out a little and Lexa can hear her breathing raggedly, and Lexa’s nails dig into her palms.

“It’s gonna take more than a few suckerpunches,” Clarke manages, “to get me to betray my friend.”

Cage sighs. “You know, I thought you might say that. But why don’t we check in on your associate and see if she has an opinion about this.” There’s a few footsteps and then rough hands are jerking her head forward a fraction. “What say you, Commander? Do you have anything to contribute?”

“Only that I wish I could spit in your face,” she says coldly.

This makes him laugh. “You kids are just too cute,” he mutters, then yanks away the cloths.

It takes Lexa a moment to blink the world back into focus, and her stomach lurches when she sees Clarke’s split lip and the blood trickling from her nose.

Cage tosses the cloths to the floor and leans over until he’s inches away from Lexa. “Go ahead,” he dares quietly, “try it.”

The tendons in her neck are taut as she takes a deep breath, and at the first twitch of her lips, his knuckles pound into her left cheekbone. Her face throbs and she forces her head to stay upright, but then his other fist hits her right in the mouth and now she can taste blood.

She spits that at him instead.

He laughs again and wipes the crimson away with a handkerchief, then tucks it back into his jacket pocket. “I do appreciate you both being so brave,” he begins, “but I need you to understand that at this point, it’s in your best interests to cooperate.” He digs into the inside of his jacket and takes out an earpiece, then presses a button and speaks into it like a microphone. “Mr. Bellamy Blake,” he says slowly, pausing between each word for emphasis, “this is President Wallace speaking. I have something—well, some _one_ —that belongs to you.”

Clarke and Lexa exchange glances, and when Clarke faces forward again, Cage has the microphone in front of her face.

“Speak.”

She just stares him down

“I said, _speak_.”

She doesn’t move, and now he gestures at a guard, who presses the tip of his gun to Clarke’s head. “You won’t shoot me,” she says simply, keeping her voice down so the microphone won’t pick it up. “You can’t afford to.”

The calm slowly fades from Cage’s expression. “Clarke isn’t up to saying hello right now,” he says into the microphone, “but I think she’d really appreciate it if you paid us a visit at Level Five. You have yourself a lovely day, sir,” he says pleasantly, only to pitch the microphone across the room and hit Clarke again. “Don’t you see you’re running out of options, here?” he snaps.

Clarke shakes her head, still looking a little dazed. “I think you’re the one who’s running out of options, President Wallace.”

He crosses his arms as he glares at each of them in turn.

“You have _no_ idea what we’re capable of,” Lexa growls.

The threat seems to have the opposite effect that she intends; he simply chuckles under his breath and circles behind them, and she thinks she hears him pick something up but she can’t be sure.

“I know Clarke is capable of escaping this facility,” he replies, still out of sight, “and I know Bellamy is capable of sneaking _into_ this facility. But you know what? That’s not the point.”

He steps between their chairs, surveying them with his hands folded neatly behind his back; Lexa sees the glint of metal and her arms jerk against the restraints that she momentarily forgets are in place, but then the syringe is at Clarke’s neck and her jaw falls open as Cage injects bright red liquid into her bloodstream.

Clarke’s eyes roll back into her head and her body simultaneously stiffens and slumps over. After a moment her head lolls against her shoulder, and she remains limp as the guards untie her hands and pull her out of her chair.

“Where are you taking her?” Lexa demands, her clenched jaw all but pulverizing her teeth as she watches Clarke’s feet drag along the floor.

Cage opens the door for the guards carrying her out, then smiles politely at Lexa. “Commander, I suggest you think long and hard about what _we’re_ capable of.”

Lexa pulls at her restraints again and glares daggers at him, at this man who is likely responsible for the deaths of so many of her warriors, but then she sees Clarke curl her foot loosely around the doorframe, like she’s trying not to let them take her away, and Lexa shouts her name before she can stop herself.

“You see this?” Cage asks softly, stopping the guards for a moment so he can play with a lock of Clarke’s hair. “Clarke doesn’t live here anymore.”

Then they’re gone and the door slams behind them, and Lexa thinks she might be shaking.


	2. to the morning we're cast out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cage gives them an offer they can't afford to refuse, and the result is a consequence Lexa never saw coming. Post-2x14.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone who's left a comment so far! Your feedback means everything to me.

Cage moves Clarke’s chair in front of Lexa and takes a seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together as he grins at her like he’s thought of a joke he can’t wait to share.

“You think you’re so invincible,” he says softly. “You put on your war paint and your shiny battle costumes… build up an army of the biggest bullies on the playground and convince them to do all the dirty work for you.”

Lexa doesn’t bat an eyelash. “You’re the one who’s hiding underground and acting like he can play God.”

He shakes his head and leans back in his chair. “Is it so wrong to want what’s meant to be yours?”

“You will never own my peoples’ blood,” she replies through gritted teeth.

“Haven’t you been paying attention, Commander?” he asks with a smirk, holding out his arms as if to indicate the entire facility. “I already do.”

She flexes her fingers against the arms of her chair, her arms straining to reach out and strike him, but then a radio crackles to life somewhere in the room.

“ _Sir, we have a situation_.”

His expression turns sour and he gets to his feet to retrieve the radio. “What kind of a situation?”

“ _A disturbance in Level Five. We need you down here right away_.”

Cage lets out a sharp sigh and slams his radio back down. “Don’t go anywhere,” he mutters to Lexa before storming out of the room.

She immediately pulls against the ropes around her wrists, trying to find a weakness in the knots and get them loose enough to slip her hands free, but the restraints don’t budge and she lets out a yell of frustration.

The door bursts open and Bellamy enters with a boy Lexa doesn’t recognize, and Bellamy does a quick visual sweep of the room before his confused eyes meet hers.

“Where’s Clarke?” he demands as he nods for the boy to free Lexa from her restraints.

She swallows hard. “They injected her with something and took her away,” she says quietly, then massages her wrists once the boy has removed the ropes. “Where’s Cage?”

“Occupied.”

“You don’t think they’d try to get her bone marrow, do you?” he asks Bellamy.

Bellamy looks like he’s thinking hard about something. “The stuff they injected her with,” he says to Lexa. “What color was it?”

“Red. Bright red.”

He looks angry now, and the boy raises an eyebrow.

“Bellamy? What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, working his jaw muscle, “we need to find her as soon as possible. Jasper, go back to the others and make sure everyone knows how to get out of here.”

Jasper nods once and takes off out the door, and now Lexa is on her feet and staring down Bellamy expectantly.

“It’s a drug,” he says off the questions in her eyes. “It’s what they give to Grounders to—”

“To turn them into Reapers,” Lexa finishes, wondering if Bellamy can hear her heart pounding against her rib cage. “Do you know where it happens?”

Bellamy nods. “I have some idea, yeah.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” she asks and heads for the door, but a gentle hand at her elbow stops her.

“Commander,” he says, his voice softer than usual, “I know you’ve seen what the drug does to Lincoln and your other warriors, but this is Clarke.”

Lexa wets her lips. “What is your point, Bellamy?”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Brace yourself.”

“I am more than capable of handling this,” she mutters, shrugging out of his grip and pulling a small dagger from a hidden fold in her jacket that the Mountain Men missed during their search. “Now I suggest you let go of this misguided obligation you feel to protect me from the circumstances at hand, and help me find our friend.”

Bellamy looks at her for a long moment, then cocks his gun. “Let’s rescue the princess.”

.

He leads her through a maze of corridors in silence, expertly avoiding occasional groups of guards, and it’s not until they’re making their way through an evacuated section of the mountain that he finally speaks.

“ _Our_ friend, huh?”

Lexa keeps her eyes on the hallway ahead. “She saved my life a few weeks ago, and she’s fought maybe harder than anyone else to make this alliance work.” Her grip tightens on the hilt of her dagger. “She’s an admirable leader.”

“You care about her.”

“Is it much farther?” she asks, decidedly ignoring his words. “Idle conversation does not provide any stealth. We should stay silent in case there are more guards nearby.” She dismisses his quiet chuckle and then stops when he holds up his hand; he slowly leans forward to glance around the corner, then shows her two fingers to indicate how many men he sees.

“Clarke should be on the other side of that door,” he says under his breath. “I’ll take care of the guards and meet you inside. Use this,” he adds, handing her a stolen keycard.

Lexa nods and presses herself against the wall as Bellamy approaches the Mountain Men, and as soon as she hears the first grunts of struggle she darts down the hallway, unlocks the door, and slips into the room as quickly as she can.

It’s dark and cave-like and empty except for a chair not unlike the rudimentary one they have in their Healer’s tent. Clarke is strapped to it, absolutely still and eyes closed, and Lexa takes a deep breath before venturing a few steps closer; Clarke’s skin is pale and glistening with sweat and her knuckles are bruised, like she’s already put up a fight or two.

“Clarke,” she whispers and receives no response, so she moves a little closer and gently removes the strip of cloth tucked between her lips, then gets to work on the restraints across Clarke’s arms and torso. She’s down to Clarke’s ankles when she hears her stir, and the moment she finishes with the buckles she lays a calming hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “Clarke? Are you alright?”

Disoriented blue eyes blink open and meet Lexa’s for the briefest moment, but then there’s a blur of movement and her back hits the wall, and it takes her a beat to process Clarke’s hands clamped tightly around her neck.

“Clarke,” she chokes out, “it’s me. It’s Lexa.”

The face in front of her shows no sign of recognition and Clarke slams the back of Lexa’s head against the concrete behind her. She tries her best to shake off the impact and shoves Clarke away, then lands a heavy hit to Clarke’s temple but she’s only temporarily stunned. Clarke grips Lexa by the shoulders and throws her over the chair, then somehow manages to climb on top of her while she’s still sprawled on the floor and now her fingers are at Lexa’s throat again.

She tries every defense tactic she’s ever been taught, maneuvers she’s used against fully-grown men in the heat of battle, but Clarke is seething and relentless and her fists keep coming.

“ _Ai gonplei ste odon_ ,” Lexa thinks to herself just as Clarke collapses beside her, and she looks up to find Bellamy lowering the butt-end of his gun and offering her a hand.

“I had to knock out Lincoln, too.”

Lexa glances at the blood trickling along Clarke’s hairline before allowing Bellamy to pull her up, giving herself a few big gulps of oxygen as he kneels to check Clarke’s pulse.

“Her heart is racing,” he murmurs, “I think they gave her another dose.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

He gently moves a few loose hairs away from the blood and tucks them behind her ear. “We need to get her back to camp,” is all he says, then scoops Clarke into his arms and uses his foot to nudge his gun toward Lexa. “You’re gonna have to cover me.”

Her fingers ache for the sword the Mountain Men stole from her earlier, but she bends down and coaxes them around Bellamy’s weapon instead; the weight and textures make little sense to her, but she picks it up and mimics the grip she’s seen the Sky People guards use.

“You’re a natural,” Bellamy observes.

She brushes her finger along the trigger. “Do you intend that to be a compliment?”

He says nothing, just shifts Clarke in his arms and nods toward the door. “We’ll make our way out slow and steady; the most direct route I know.”

Lexa’s gaze drifts to Clarke again, perhaps unintentionally, before she turns around and raises the gun to shoulder-height. “If you allow even one more Mountain Man to touch her—”

“I won’t.”

She takes a deep breath and approaches the door, then leans across the threshold to confirm that the hallway is empty. “It’s clear.”

“Head in the direction we came from,” Bellamy instructs, “then take a left.”

Lexa exits into the corridor and flattens herself against the opposite wall, then side-steps until she reaches the corner, and she senses the guards before she even gets visual confirmation. “Three,” she counts under her breath, and glances over her shoulder to check on Clarke and Bellamy.

“Are they scattered or standing together?” he asks quietly.

“Together.”

He frowns thoughtfully. “Quick shots. Don’t give them any time to react.”

“And if I miss and give away our position?”

His eyes soften a little. “It’s the same as throwing a knife. Just aim and release.”

She loathes how loudly her pulse is pounding in her ears as she lines up her targets—it’s never like this when she’s in the woods and surrounded by tree cover—and curls her fingertip around the trigger.

“Tuck your elbow in,” Bellamy whispers behind her.

Lexa adjusts, lets out the breath she’s been holding, and shoots.

There’s a few seconds of muffled commotion followed by heavy silence, and she lowers the gun and looks at Bellamy.

“Second right up ahead.”

She keeps her footsteps quick and light as they move forward, hating the way the soles of her boots clunk against the concrete; she misses the soft, giving crunch of the forest floor, misses the camouflage the trees so willingly provide, misses her _sword_.

It doesn’t take her as long to line up her next shot, and when the lone guard goes down, she feels Bellamy come up beside her.

“Rethinking your no-guns policy yet?”

Lexa doesn’t bother hiding her glare as she turns to face him. “Guns are loud and heavy and require ammunition, and if you ask me about it again, yours will be the first throat I slit when I get a new sword.”

Bellamy seems unsure of whether to be disappointed or impressed. “Keep to this corridor and take a left at the end.”

She glances down the expanse of hallway in front of them, but then back to Bellamy. “How is she doing?” she asks, keeping her eyes on him rather than on Clarke.

He kneels down to one knee so he can check her pulse again, then picks her back up. “She’s okay for now but we need to keep moving. I’ve seen how the drug affects grown men, but Clarke’s body might react differently, and I’d _really_ like us to be back at camp when she wakes up.”

Lexa gives him a small nod and adjusts her grip on the gun. “I take back what I said,” she mutters as they continue walking.

“About what?”

“When I get a new sword, you’ll be the second I kill. Cage will be the first.”


	3. but i know i'll land here again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cage makes them an offer they can't afford to refuse, and the result is a consequence Lexa never saw coming. Post-2x14. Title from "Get Home" by Bastille.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter, almost double the length of the first two, as I do. Comments are appreciated! Hope you all enjoyed the ride.

“Open the gates,” Lexa shouts the moment Camp Jaha is within earshot, and she’s rather impressed that Bellamy doesn’t have to echo the command before the gates part up ahead.

Abby, Raven, and Jasper are the first to appear as the metal moves aside, but she plants herself squarely between them and Clarke.

“We’re bringing Clarke to her tent,” she says firmly. “No one is to join us except for Abby and Octavia.”

“Is she alive?” Octavia calls out from her spot beside a fire as she sharpens a knife.

“Yes.”

Octavia still doesn’t look up. “Then I’m staying right here.”

Lexa’s nostrils flare as she fights to keep calm. “We need—”

“Octavia,” Bellamy practically snarls, “ _now_.”

She rolls her eyes and gets to her feet, and her arms are crossed tightly across her chest. “What do you want?”

Lexa closes the distance between them until they’re separated by mere inches, and to her credit, Octavia doesn’t flinch. “The drug they gave Lincoln to turn him into a Reaper,” she says, her voice low and icy. “They gave it to Clarke.”

Octavia swallows hard and wets her lips.

“You were at Lincoln’s side during his recovery. We need you to… _I_ need you to help me with Clarke’s.”

“Abby’s the doctor,” Octavia mutters as she shakes her head. “What do you need me for?”

Lexa opens her mouth but remains unsure of what to say, and ultimately no words come out at all; instead she just glances back at Clarke, still unmoving in Bellamy’s arms, and tosses her gun to the ground. “So be it,” she growls under her breath and turns away to follow Bellamy to Clarke’s tent.

Abby is abruptly walking with her, so close that she nearly steps on Lexa’s toes. “What’s wrong with Clarke?” she demands, “What the hell happened in there?”

“We’re going to need restraints, a lightning stick, and whatever medicine you used on Lincoln a few weeks ago.”

Her strides stall just the slightest bit. “What are you talking about?”

“Sky People ask so many questions,” Lexa snaps. “Just go retrieve what I’ve asked of you.”

Abby departs with a shaky nod and Lexa practically rips open the flaps of Clarke’s tent; Bellamy has already set her on her bed and is checking her pulse a third time.

“Octavia?” he asks when he sees Lexa, who just shakes her head, and he sighs. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with her.”

Abby enters the tent now and sets her armful of supplies on the bedside table, then opens up a medical kit and perches herself on the edge of the bed, leaning over Clarke as she reaches out to clean her wounds.

“Stop,” Lexa says, and Abby’s hand freezes in midair. “Restrain her first.”

She doesn’t look very pleased with the order but she still puts the disinfectant aside and grabs two plastic ties usually reserved for prisoners, and straps Clarke’s wrists to the bedframe like she’s tucking a small child into bed.

“Tighter.”

Abby exhales sharply and gives each tie a quick yank. “Am I allowed to tend to my daughter now?” she asks through gritted teeth.

Lexa takes two more ties and fastens Clarke’s ankles down as well, then retreats to the corner of the tent and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Go ahead,” Bellamy tells her quietly as he takes a seat at the foot of the bed.

Abby swallows hard and soaks disinfectant into a small towel, then begins dabbing at the cut on Clarke’s forehead. “How far did they get?” Abby asks, her jaw clenched hard. “In the, um. The process.”

“Definitely a first dose,” Bellamy replies, “maybe a second one, but we’re not sure.”

She nods and continues wiping away the blood, and when she finishes she brushes her fingertips along Clarke’s bruised knuckles and cleans them as well.

There’s a rustling of the tent flaps and Lexa glances over to see Octavia standing just inside, holding a few canteens and looking anywhere but at Clarke. “Here’s some water,” she mutters.

“Set it on the table,” Abby replies but doesn’t stop working on Clarke.

Octavia obeys and then sits next to Bellamy, who gives her a tight half-hug and a quiet “Thank you.” She glances up at Lexa now and tilts her head in the smallest of nods, which Lexa returns, and they both immediately return to staring at opposite sides of the tent.

“How is she?” Octavia asks, not bothering to hide her reluctance.

“Stable for now, I think.” Abby dives into the medical kit and takes out a small bottle and syringe. “This should keep her from getting a fever like Lincoln did,” she explains as she sterilizes the inside of Clarke’s elbow and gently sticks the needle in, “but we’ll need to make sure she stays hydrated.”

Lexa isn’t sure who’s included in her “we” but she finds herself nodding all the same, but every inch of her body freezes when she hears a faint groan from Clarke’s corner of the tent.

Everyone watches Clarke’s arms strain against her binds, watches her grimace as a string of breathless, grating coughs escape her throat, and Octavia clutches Bellamy’s wrist as Lexa takes a few cautious steps closer.

“Clarke? Clarke, sweetie,” Abby whispers, brushing her fingers through Clarke’s hair, but when her eyes blink open they’re just as wild and disoriented as they were back in Mount Weather; only now instead of thrashing against her binds she’s trembling from head to toe.

Abby clutches Clarke’s shoulder and Lexa can see her trying to hold herself together.  “Come on, baby,” she manages, the lump in her throat obvious. “I know you’re still in there. Come back to me, Clarke.”

The tremors begin to die down and she coughs a few more times, gasping for oxygen like she’s just swum across an entire ocean. Abby opens one of the canteens and tries to tip some water into Clarke’s mouth but Clarke chokes it back up and jerks out of the way and almost knocks the container out of Abby’s hand in the process.

“More,” she pants, then mumbles unintelligibly. “ _More_.”

“I’m trying, honey. Just stay still and you can have some water.”

Lexa takes a breath to steady herself. “I don’t think it’s water that she’s asking for.”

Abby glances up at her in alarm, and then at Bellamy, who nods in agreement, and now Abby’s mouth is a taut line. She goes back into the medical kit, pulling out another syringe and a second bottle of clear liquid and loading a dose, then clears her throat and uses her free hand to cup Clark’s cheek. “Okay, Clarke, here’s some more for you,” she says, not quite keeping the emotion out of her voice, before injecting the liquid into Clarke’s neck.

Clarke’s eyes start to lose focus and she sighs in relief, and slowly her eyelids droop closed; the tremors remain, however, and Lexa can feel her jaw clenching again.

“What did you give her?”

“A sedative,” Abby replies after a beat, setting the supplies back on the table. “Whatever that drug is doing to her, she doesn’t need to be awake for it.”

There’s a heavy stretch of silence that’s filled only by Clarke jerking against her restraints as short waves of tremors wrack her body.

“I need some air,” Octavia mutters, and Bellamy watches her leave then glances at Lexa.

“Go,” she says, nodding once, and he follows Octavia out of the tent.

Abby slowly places the bottle and syringe next to the kit and takes a deep breath in and out, and Lexa can see how badly she’s shaking from the other side of the tent.

“If you need a moment,” Lexa says quietly, “I can look after her.”

She looks up like she forgot Lexa was there, but instead of getting to her feet like Lexa expects her to, Abby turns a little and pats the spot next to her on the bed. “Could you…?”

Lexa doesn’t move. “Could I what?”

“Sit,” Abby clarifies, and the syllable is desperate.

She’s clutching the sheath where her sword usually is, more out of habit than anything else, and it takes her a long moment to convince her feet to move forward. When she lowers herself to the bed she waits for Abby to explode, to demand an explanation for their carelessness, for why Lexa let this happen to Clarke—

“Hold still,” Abby instructs and Lexa has to hold back a flinch as Abby reaches out with a clean towel and begins wiping at the smears of blood Lexa knows are caked to her face.

She avoids eye contact as best she can, but then Abby leans forward to get a closer look at something and she balks at the proximity. “This is unnecessary,” she mutters, and prepares to get to her feet.

“Lexa.”

Abby’s voice somehow manages to stop her cold; she clenches her jaw and faces her once more.

“Let me,” Abby says softly, “please.”

She swallows hard and settles back onto the mattress, trying to keep her breathing even while she silently dares Abby to wipe away any of her war paint, but Abby seems to be carefully working around it.

Abby brushes over a sensitive spot and Lexa feels the corner of her eye twitch, then straightens her posture to compensate and lets Abby continue.

“I’ve been so hard on her,” Abby murmurs in a small voice as she soaks more disinfectant into the cloth. “Ever since the missile attack, I—” Her hand stalls for a fraction of a moment. “We sacrificed our people on the Ark to save oxygen; she sacrificed our people on the ground to help us win this war.” She swallows hard and busies herself with grabbing a handful of bandages from the kit. “I’d thought it was different—it _felt_ so different—but…” Abby sniffs. “The Ark taught her everything she knows.”

Clarke lets out a sharp grunt and they both glance down to where her arm is straining against the plastic tie again, and finally her hand reaches out, her fingers extending until the tip of one brushes against Lexa’s glove.

She coughs twice and sags back against the mattress, and Lexa is relieved that the sudden heat on her face is hidden by paint.

“Or maybe I’m wrong,” Abby decides after a beat, still looking at Clarke’s hand. “Maybe it was the ground.”

Lexa locks eyes with her. “Perhaps it was both.”

“Abby, we need you in Medical,” Jackson announces, poking his head through the tent flaps and allowing himself the quickest of double-takes before clearing his throat. “Commander,” he adds with a nod and sees himself out.

Abby glances between Clarke and the entrance a few times, then to the bloody cloth in her hand, then finally to Lexa.

“I can look after her,” Lexa repeats, and she’s a little surprised by how quickly Abby excuses herself; maybe even more so by the long breath she lets out once Abby is out of sight. She wonders if she should relocate, if she deserves to be the one at Clarke’s bedside, if Clarke would even _want_ her here after it was her own foolish attempt at intimidation that made Cage snap.

“Lexa.”

The voice is barely more than a brittle whisper, but it is still unmistakably Clarke’s, and Lexa’s heart is in her throat as she glances down at the blue eyes fighting to stay open.

Her breathing is still ragged but her pulls against the restraints are more controlled now, more human. “What happened?” she wheezes.

“You’re safe now, Clarke,” Lexa replies after a beat.

Clarke frowns a little, though she seems more confused than anything. “Why am I…?” She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. “Lexa, what happened?” she asks more forcefully. “How did we get out of Mount Weather?”

Lexa seizes the opportunity for an easy answer. “Bellamy helped us.”

“Why can’t I remember anything?” She strains against the plastic ties again. “And what are these for?”

Lexa wets her lips and takes a steadying breath. “Cage injected you with his Reaper drug.”

Clarke’s eyes widen and she opens her mouth to say something, but now she’s studying the cuts and bruises on Lexa’s face, and soon Lexa can see tears forming. “Did I do that?” Clarke whispers thickly.

Lexa swallows. “No,” she murmurs, “it was Cage.”

“I was there when he interrogated you,” Clarke says, shaking her head until a single drop of moisture rolls down her temple. “I saw, and—and it wasn’t that bad.”

“He continued after they took you away,” Lexa insists, keeping her voice as steady as she can. “Clarke, this was not your fault.”

The second statement feels like a lot less of a lie, and Clarke nods after a beat.

Lexa eyes the leftover sedatives on the table. “You didn’t sleep for long. How are you feeling?”

Clarke says nothing.

“Your mother’s been treating you the same way she did Lincoln, but none of us is sure how much the effects will differ.”

The tent is filled with silence again and she clenches her jaw. “Clarke, I’ll understand if you blame me for—” She glances down to gauge Clarke’s anger, but her eyes are closed and she’s lying far too still. “Clarke?” Lexa checks her pulse and feels nothing, and now her own heart is racing as she lunges for Abby’s lightning stick, presses it to Clarke’s chest, and pulls the trigger.

Clarke stiffens against the mattress before going limp again, and Lexa tries a second time but gets the same reaction; a roar of frustration bursts from her throat and she shifts until she has a knee planted on either side of Clarke.

“ _Yu gonplei **nou ste** odon_ ,” she says firmly, almost like a promise, and sets the lightning stick directly over Clarke’s heart.

Clarke’s body seizes again, and then there’s a breathless gasp and Clarke’s lungs are heaving for air beneath Lexa. She hesitates for a moment but then tosses the lightning stick to the ground, checks Clarke’s pulse once more, and holds her head steady.

“Clarke,” she whispers, using her thumbs to brush away a locks of hair.

She’s blinking again and her eyes finally find Lexa’s and they’re scared and confused but crystal clear, and Lexa takes out her knife to free Clarke from her bindings.

“No,” Clarke blurts, shaking her head, “don’t cut me loose… not yet.” She swallows hard and glances down at each of her hands like she’s trying to figure out what they might do if they’re not restrained. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lexa tightens her grip on her knife but forces it back into its sheath, then moves off of Clarke and returns to her original position on the edge of the mattress. “I trust you,” she mutters regardless.

“I don’t.” Clarke’s breathing is still too heavy and her forehead is damn with sweat. “Just…”

“Water?”

She nods gratefully and Lexa grabs a canteen, then tips it into Clarke’s mouth and waits while Clarke downs several greedy gulps.

“ _Heda_ ,” Nyko calls from outside the tent, a sliver of his face visible beyond the entrance flaps.

Lexa brings the canteen against her chest like she’s been caught in some sort of wrongdoing. “What is it?”

“Unrest is growing in Tondc. More are dying and the rest crave reassurance that not all is lost.”

“Tell them I will return once an important matter has been attended to.” She takes a deep breath and gives him a firm nod. “Tell them this war remains ours to win.”

He returns her nod and departs a moment later, and Lexa takes her time facing Clarke again.

“Please don’t say I’m the important matter.” Lexa says nothing and Clarke tries to sit up as best she can, settling for supporting her weight on shaky elbows. “Lexa, your people need you.”

Lexa forces her eyes to meet Clarke’s and looks at her for a long moment. “Clarke,” she says simply, “you are my people.” She takes out her knife again without another word and cuts each of Clarke’s binds, ignoring Clarke when she tries to squirm out of Lexa’s way.

“What are you doing? Lexa, stop—”

Clarke stalls in midsentence as Lexa finishes freeing her wrists and ankles, and Clarke’s hands are shaking as she holds them out in front of her like she’s afraid to let them out of her sight.

Lexa takes one of them into her own and turns it palm-up, then examines the faint red scars left behind by the plastic; she lifts it to her mouth and presses her lips lightly against the marks, feeling the tendons in Clarke’s wrist twitching, her pulse beating, and when she locks eyes with Clarke again, the tears have returned.

She hasn’t let go of Clarke’s wrist and now her hand drifts along her forearm to her elbow, then up to her shoulder, and Clarke lets out a small sob as she wraps her arms around Lexa and squeezes for all she’s worth.

“I’m so sorry,” she croaks in Lexa’s ear.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Clarke.”

Clarke pulls away and looks at her with wet, miserable eyes. “I’m the one who hurt you. I _know_ I—”

Lexa buries her fingers in Clarke’s hair and kisses her forehead, and all the air rushes out of Clarke’s lungs; neither of them moves for far longer than Lexa anticipated, but then Clarke sniffs and clears her throat and the moment is over.

“You should go,” she says quietly, wiping away the moisture coating her cheeks. “Thank you for everything, but you should—you need to go.”

Something in Lexa’s chest tightens at her words, but then she studies Clarke’s expression again and finds no sincerity. “Clarke, we don’t know if the drug is completely out of your system yet, and if you have another reaction, you’ll need someone to help you through it. I think it would be best if I stayed here for now.”

Her words are just pointed enough to make the corner of Clarke’s mouth twitch as she nods in relief, and she eases herself back onto the mattress and covers her face with her hands, taking deep breaths in and out.

Lexa removes her shoulder guard and leans over to lie beside Clarke, neither touching her nor saying a word but simply listening to her inhales and exhales. Eventually Clarke lets her arms drop to her sides, then swallows hard and turns her head to look at Lexa.

“Rest,” Lexa says, and the command is gentle.

Clarke nods, curls up on her side facing Lexa, and closes her eyes.

Now Lexa is back in the dark room with Clarke strapped to the chair, with Clarke’s empty expression and merciless fists. “Clarke?”

“Yeah?” she asks, her eyes blinking open again.

Lexa drinks in the softness of her features, the absence of any hostility or rage, and feels her own pulse begin to slow.

“Nothing.”


End file.
